


driftwood

by brandywine421



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandywine421/pseuds/brandywine421
Summary: "I really want to hear that story.  Maybe over drinks?  At my place?"God.Really, Karen?"Smooth," he smiled, giving her a goofy thumbs up that made her go warm.  Why was she stressing about this so hard?  Matt was -Matt."You know I can't promise it'll end any better than the first time.""Sure you can, we both can," she replied.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	driftwood

**Author's Note:**

> The Matt/Karen pairing has always been a rare!pair to my muses, shiny and inexplicable to be observed only from afar. But I was flipping through some poetry books this weekend and Shinji Moon gives me all kinds of Karedevil feels so I'm taking a day trip to this sandbox. _*grabs new facemask, water bottle and picnic basket filled with snacks*_ Let's do this.

_Our driftwood bodies float against the tide,  
twining around each other like we've been doing this  
for ages, like we've been weather-kissed, floating upon  
and into and onto since the time before seas were first  
christened into oceans.  
_

_I touch the knots beneath the skin of your back,_  
_trace the tree lines around your wrist,_  
_and you smile at me and I love you_  
_for how human you are._

* * *

She found herself wanting.

She hated it. Hated everything about it.

She had a career, a couple, if she thought too hard about it - she had friends, a few, if she could mend some more fences - a home, filled with books and soft clothes and a full pantry - but she - fuck, she *wanted* more than just - she just wanted.

She wanted a hand to hold, just because, and smiles meant just for her, only for her; she wanted kisses and cuddles and loud screaming arguments over nonsense.

She wanted to be selfish, to be wanted and not wanting.

She wanted another second chance. She wanted all the chances to make it work if - she wanted - fuck.

She wanted more than she deserved.

* * *

Marci was one of those confident girls that she hated when she was younger, never hesitant to come over and pick lint off her shirt and mess with the part in her hair that she'd spent way too long making lay 'just so' before she came in. Marci's buttons were never replaced with paperclips because her sewing kit had been rationed for stitches.

"Stop fluttering, what do you want? Why are you fluttery?" Matt didn't raise his head from the desk, glasses loosely dangled in his hand as he attempted his morning nap and Marci poked at the line of bruises too finger-shaped to be love bites on the back of his neck.

She had no concept of personal space and, well, she was fluttering around the office.

"Stop distracting Matt, we've been getting so much more done when he gets at least half an hour of supervised napping," Foggy said, coming to their rescue and distracting her from them.

Marci paused. "That doesn't sound productive."

"Fuck off," Matt sighed. He curled his hand and she laced her ringed fingers through his bruised ones and - Foggy glared at Karen sharply. She gave him the middle finger. He bent his elbows and started mimicking a chicken.

"Sorry your dad's an asshole. The fancy wine is behind the flour in my pantry," Matt told Marci.

Foggy made an affronted sound. "You only have boxed wine at your house."

"That's for guests, I save the good stuff to suck up to your wife," Matt said.

She'd questioned the boxed wine to herself, but it had helped her through some of the roughest times in her life so it had been comforting to see it at his place. She wondered who else had permission to hold his hand in public and drink his wine on tap.

Foggy thumped her with a scolding finger at whatever expression she made and Marci frowned, glancing over. Matt closed his eyes. "Don't go through my mail, stop fluttering."

"Come on, Marci, I need to pick up some files he left at his place anyway and we can discuss the dinner party of doom in private. Karen, maybe you can have a talk with our partner when he's done with his nap so I don't have to deal with him later," Foggy hissed.

Matt made an unhappy sound but was sleepy enough to not rise when they were alone.

Her phone vibrated less than a minute after they were gone. _*We talked about this. Just fucking ask.*_

"Marci didn't know what to think of me at first, too curious about how I functioned and like, put on underwear as a blind person - stuff like that, but she followed Fog's lead. He didn't treat me any differently and I never tried to hit on her so - we hate each other as in-laws are supposed to," Matt said, his words slow with his settings set to 'lazy'. "Me and Fogs had to learn how to be 'lux as fuck' so we could interact with her fam."

"Since when do you say words like 'lux' and 'fam'?" she laughed, infuriatingly charmed.

"You would not believe the kind of smuggling rings I'm breaking up lately," he smiled, yawning and leaning back to stretch with a breakfast cereal of sounds from his joints.

"I really want to hear that story. Maybe over drinks? At my place?" **God**. _Really_ , Karen?

"Smooth," he smiled, giving her a goofy thumbs up that made her go warm. Why was she stressing about this so hard? Matt was - _Matt_.

"You know I can't promise it'll end any better than the first time."

"Sure you can, we both can," she replied.

"Huh. Do you still leave a space for flowers in your window?" 

"Do you still leave flowers on an empty grave?" She definitely didn't hold her breath and he smiled, one of those sideways ones. 

* * *

She made spaghetti, fancy college-style where she broke the pasta in half to fit in the pot and added ground beef to canned sauce (making it fancy). He brought unscented candles and - ha - a box of wine.

"Your heart went all weird when you heard me say I kept it for guests," he said with a soft press of his mouth to her cheek an instant before she blushed. He totally did that on purpose and she - fuck she was weak.

"You assume I keep it around because I like it and not because I'm poor."

"It's not my place to judge where people find their comfort. I - like it when you're comfortable around me."

Huh. "I'm always comfortable around you. Comfortable enough to drink expensive wine."

He laughed softly. "It's a holdover from college, Foggy and I got a subscription to a wine dealer for emergency gift scenarios when we were both dating way out of our league. I never get around to canceling it and wine's a great bribe."

"Of course you'd get into the sommelier business in college, what, beer pong not good enough for you?"

"We wouldn't have been friends in college," he told her, leaning against the counter island while she drains the pasta. "I was a pretentious bastard."

"And that's changed how?" she laughed.

"Fair," he agreed and just like that - she thought that tonight - they might find a way to make this work.

* * *

Dinner was lighter without the weight of hidden identities and unspoken murders dragging them down and - God - she wanted more even if this was enough, if this was all she could - 

"Uh oh, is happy hour over already?" he asked, taking their dishes to the kitchen without instruction. "What's on your mind?"

"Just - we could have done this sooner."

"We tried, remember? Timing's better now."

She huffed, laughing. "Really? How?"

"You're very capable of living a good life without me in it," Matt said quietly. "But if I can make you laugh, make you think, make you happy - I mean, I'm here, but - it has to be what you want."

"Fuck."

He smiled, that sideways one again. "Is that what you want?"

"Shut up," she laughed, wondering which one of them should take the blame for ruining the moment.

* * *

They made out like high schoolers, not even college age, with sloppy kisses and clumsy hands - but he popped the latch on her bra better than most grown ass men - and she would reflect, much later, on the merits of dry-humping before going full out despite the laundry.

It wasn't all passion and pretense - all impulse and need - it was fun and easy and - she had permission to kiss the places she couldn't bring herself to touch and map the answers to her questions from his skin that she couldn't bear with his words - and she woke up to him cuddled around her without being the clingy one that initiated it.

Was it what she wanted? Maybe.

She slid her legs off the mattress and he shifted, taking her pillow and crushing it to his chest with a pacified expression and huff of content. "Mine."

Okay, yeah. 

* * *

_Underneath the moonlight,_  
_we laid and laughed_  
_like run-on sentences, kissed like ellipses, and_  
_you held me so close that I wear my bones down smooth_  
_against_  
_the grain of your skin._

**Author's Note:**

> Title and poem belong to Shinji Moon - 'Driftwood Bodies'.


End file.
